Mr Monk and the Closure
by Ryan Lohner
Summary: A mugging could lead Monk to the man who killed his wife. Finished.
1. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Disher was out for a stroll, enjoying the San Francisco scenery. New York may have been an amazing place, but he still felt glad to be back home. It was less noisy, less hectic, and no one tried to sell you faulty watches on the street. But the thing Disher loved most of all was how much less overt street crime there was.  
  
There still was some, though, a fact brought home to Disher when across the street he saw a woman being mugged by a man wearing a mask. He didn't seem to be armed, but he was severely manhandling the woman to get at her purse. "Hey! Hey!" Disher shouted as he ran toward them. The mugger dropped the purse and ran down the sidewalk. Disher chased him, but the man proved to be in far better shape. He turned into an alley, and by the time Disher rounded the corner, he was nowhere to be found.  
  
Disher walked back to the scene of the crime with mixed feelings. He had stopped a wrong from being committed, but losing the perp was never something to brag about. The victim was still there, seemingly frozen by what had just happened. "Miss, are you all right?" he asked. Slowly she seemed to come out of it, and responded, "Yes, I think so. That was really brave, what you did." "Ah, just part of the job. I'm a cop." Disher was trying to sound impressive, but being so out of breath hampered it somewhat.  
  
"Oh, really?" the woman said. "I've never met a policeman before. Of course, I've never been robbed before." "Listen," said Disher. "Why don't you give me your name and some way to contact you, in case that guy does something else and we need to get a statement from you?" That was only part of it; he was also hoping to parlay this experience into a date.  
  
"Well, all right. My name is Carolyn Burningham. Here's my number," she said as she wrote it on a piece of paper she took out of her purse. "Never know when you'll need it," she said to Disher's confused look. "Although I don't know how much help I could be. You saw yourself he had a mask on. I have no idea what he looks like." Disher was prepared for this, saying the classic cop line: "Actually, anything you could tell us would be helpful." "You know, I did notice something odd..."  
  
A couple minutes later Disher got out his cell phone and called Captain Stottlemeyer. "Hello?" said a gruff voice. "Hi, it's Randy," Disher said. "I just saw an attempted robbery and," "Where was it?" Sottlemeyer interrupted. "A block away from my house. There was a woman who got mugged," "And you called me about that?" The captain was clearly annoyed, which was nothing new to Disher. However, this time he did have something important to say. "Well, not about that, exactly. Just something about the man who did it. The woman said that while they were fighting over her purse, she saw that he had six fingers on his right hand."  
  
There was a pause, and then Stottlemeyer said, "I guess we'd better call Monk." 


	2. Chapter 2

Adrian Monk was in the process of cleaning his apartment, with his nurse Sharona watching every move. She'd decided to make her own house a little cleaner, and figured her boss was the best person to teach her.  
  
"How's it going?" she asked, as it had been a while since he had started, and she couldn't see any more that needed to be done. "About halfway there," was the reply. "I think I'm making progress. The monkey smell isn't nearly as strong as it was last week." "That smell has been gone for months," Sharona said with an expression half exasperated, half accepting. Monk said to that, "You can't smell that? You must be conditioned with the way your house smells." "My house does not smell!" "Trust me, it does."  
  
Just then, the phone rang and Monk picked it up. "Hello? Captain, hi." Sharona perked up. This was probably about one thing: the cops had a case they couldn't figure out, and were turning to Monk. She'd seen these conversations many times before, but this one was different. First Monk said, "What?" in a tone of utter disbelief. Then he recovered and asked, "You're sure?" A brief pause and the, "You're sure you're sure?" Then, "You're sure you're sure you're sure? All right, I'll be right over."  
  
Monk hung up and turned to Sharona. "We have to go to the police station. Now." As they headed out the door Sharona said, "Must be pretty big to stop in the middle of cleaning, huh?" "Yes, it is." "What's up?" "I'll explain in the car. You're driving." "Adrian, I'm always driving." "Then you can drive this time too." Something was really up, she could tell.  
  
At the police station, Sharona had since been filled in. She was very excited that they may have finally found the six-fingered man Warrick Tennyson had spoken about.  
  
"Hey, Monk," said Stottlemeyer as they approached. "We brought the woman in, she's sitting over there." Monk took a seat next to Carolyn. "Ms. Burningham?" "Yes?" "My name is Adrian Monk, and I have a particular interest in your case. It's similar to another one I've been working on for a while. Can you tell me anything besides what you already told the Lieutenant? What kind of mask was it?" "Kind of like the one that guy in Halloween wore, except it was black." Monk sighed. "That won't give us much to go on. Did he say anything to you?"  
  
"Just 'Give me your purse, lady.'" Monk looked her straight in the eye. "Can you remember what his voice sounded like?" "Kind of high pitched, really. Like he was young." "How young?" "Fourteen, fifteen maybe." Adrian took some time to absorb the information, then simply said, "Thank you for your time."  
  
As he walked over to Sharona, she could tell something was wrong. "What?" she asked. "She said the guy was in his teens going by his voice. He would have been a little kid in 1997." Sharona took her own time to realize the truth. "Oh, Adrian, I'm so sorry." "It's fine. Stupid of me to think I could just stumble across the guy like this. I mean, he's probably on the other side of the world now." Sharona saw the tears forming in his eyes. He truly had pinned all his hopes on this incident. Monk turned to Stottlemeyer and said, "I don't think you'll be needing my help on this one. Call me if you run into trouble, but for now I'm going home." Stottlemeyer watched them leave, heartbroken himself.  
  
That night, Monk looked around his house, satisfied at the day's cleaning. Tomorrow wouldn't be as hard. Then the phone rang. He glanced at it; maybe the case did require his services after all. "Captain?" he said as he picked it up. "No, it's me," Sharona's voice came back. She sounded excited, too much so considering the day's events. "Today in school Benjy learned something rather interesting. I think you'll want to know it." "Okay, go ahead." "All right, here goes. The gene for six fingers is dominant to the gene for five fingers. If a person with six fingers has a child, even with someone with five fingers, the child will have six fingers too."  
  
Monk was confused; he had convinced himself never to buy into such a possibility of finding the six-fingered man again. "So what does this mean?" "Don't you see? That mugger may not have been the man who hired Tennyson, but he could be related to him. His son or his grandson, something." Monk sat down, hard. "All right. My hopes might not be up, but if this is all true, I'm going to be down where it happened first thing tomorrow. Meet me there." 


	3. Chapter 3

"This is where it happened," said Disher as Monk and Sharona walked with him to the scene. "I was standing across the street there, and I saw them right where we are now." Monk immediately got to work looking for clues. After about ten seconds, he shook his head, saying "I'm not getting much from this place. What happened next?"  
  
"I chased him down this way, and then he went into that alley." The group went to the area that Disher indicated. "By the time I got here, he was gone." "All right," said Monk. "I'll have a look around." He went into the alley, looking for any sign of where the mugger might have gone. He soon found himself blocked in. There was a good amount of dust on the ground, but apparently a wind had gone through since it happened as there were no footprints anywhere. He kept looking, hoping for some sign, but came up empty.  
  
As he came out of the alley, Monk saw Sharona and Disher's expectant faces. However, he had nothing to tell them. "There's nothing in there. I don't know how the guy did it, but there's no trace of him." Monk walked a little further down the street, then exploded. "How can there be a crime scene with no clues? It's not possible, it can't be done!" Sharona was worried; she had never seen her boss like this, and wondered if he should stop his investigation before things got any worse.  
  
Suddenly, Disher's cell phone rang. He answered, saying, "Hello? Oh, captain. No, we haven't found anything; even Monk's stymied." There was a pause, then, "Oh. Well, I'll bring him in right away." Disher hung up and called Monk over. "Ms. Burningham just came into the station. The guy did it again." "Does she have anything new?" Monk asked. "Captain Stottlemeyer hasn't gotten a chance to question her yet. We'd better get over there."  
  
"Was there anything different this time?" Monk asked Carolyn. "Yes," she said. "He had a gun. I guess he wasn't taking chances. Oh, and he got away with my purse, since no one was around."  
  
"What was in the purse? Anything that he'd want in particular?" "Well, some money, of course. Then there was lipstick, sunglasses, and those pieces of paper I carry around in case I have to write something down." "Thank you," said Monk. "I'll do my best to find this guy."  
  
Monk walked back to Sharona. "There's something I'm missing here, I just know it. I solved all those other cases so easily, why can't I do anything with this one?" "Adrian, don't do this to yourself," said Sharona. "You can't expect a solution to just jump out at you, no matter how long you work on something. Besides, that particular woman has to have something to do with it, right? I mean, why else would the guy target her twice?"  
  
"There was nothing unusual in her purse, and if she knew anyone with six fingers she'd tell us. There is such a thing as coincidence, otherwise there wouldn't be a word for it." Sharona looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll figure this out. You always do. It just won't be right now." Monk started to head out the door, then stopped. "Wait a minute, I have an idea."  
  
Monk caught Carolyn heading out herself. "Ms. Birningham, one more question. Did you do anything shortly before the first incident that could cause something to get into your purse without your knowledge?" "I don't quite know what that could be," she replied. "Anything unusual, it might make or break this case." "Well, the night before there was something unusual for me. I got a date."  
  
Monk became intrigued. "Go on," he said. "We went out to dinner, then we went back to my place, but he left without, you know, anything." Now Monk was very interested. "And did you ever get a good look at his right hand?" Carolyn looked confused. "Actually, no. He kept it in his pocket most of the time. It seemed kind of weird but I didn't think much of it. Wait a minute, you don't think he did it, do you?" "Unless you can suggest anyone else, he's our only suspect."  
  
Monk took Sharona aside. "I have an idea. This guy she went out with wasn't sure he'd get a second date, so he left something in her purse. When she found it, she'd think he dropped it there, so she'd call him and they'd get together again. Then he realized he needed it back for some reason." He turned back. "Ms. Birningham, what can you tell us about this man?" 


	4. Chapter 4

"Look, I don't know about this," said Carolyn. "I mean, why wouldn't I recognize his voice? And the guy I went out with sure didn't look like a teenager." "Denial can be a powerful thing," Monk replied. "If you were convinced enough that a nice guy like him wasn't capable of it, his voice could have sounded different to you. As for what he looked like, he might have a glandular condition that makes him grow abnormally. He could have been deepening his voice then, too. Like I said, this is our only suspect, and I'm asking you to please help us."  
  
As Carolyn was led to a sketch artist, Disher walked beside Monk. "Are you sure about this? It sounds like something I would come up with," he said. Monk turned and said, "Do me a favor, Randy. Don't ever say that to me again."  
  
While they were waiting, Sharona said to Monk, "Adrian, have you given any thought to what you're going to do once you find this guy?" Monk shrugged. "Ask him about his parents. That is the whole reason we're doing this, right?" "Okay, and what then?" Monk took a deep breath. "I've been thinking about that every day since it happened. And now I have a pretty good idea." Sharona asked, "And what's that?" but got no response. Monk appeared to be lost in thought. "Is it done yet?" Stottlemeyer asked as he appeared beside them. "Should be, it's been a while," said Disher. Just then, Carolyn got up and the artist showed them what he'd drawn. It was a young man with blond, wavy hair, brown eyes, a thin moustache, and a mole on his right cheek. Stottlemeyer said, "Okay, I'll have the whole city combed for this guy."  
  
Sharona noticed that Monk had a troubled look on his face. "What's wrong?" shed asked. "I don't know, I suppose-well, I've always taken a prominent role in the cases I've helped on, right?" Sharona nodded. "And now, when I should have that prominence more than any other time, I'm just being dragged along like luggage." "Adrian, don't say that. You came up with the idea that it could have been her date, right? Who knows if any of these guys would have come up with that? It's because of you that they're looking for him now."  
  
"I guess so," he responded. "Look, I'm seeing if there's anything at the crime scene I missed. There's not much more I can do here."  
  
At home, Adrian sighed as he ate dinner. Just like before, he had not come up with anything, and was now totally dependent on the other cops to find the man he was looking for.  
  
The phone rang, causing him to drop his fork. He cringed as he saw the chicken dripping juice onto the table. As Monk answered the phone, he quickly went for his wipes. "Adrian?" Sharona's voice said. "Yeah, it's me," he replied as he wiped up the juice and put the fork back on the plate. "Well, I'm just calling to check up on you. You've been kind of 'off' today." "Well, I'm fine. Thanks, though. Guess we'll just have to keep waiting."  
  
He hung up and starting eating again. Almost immediately, the phone again rang, and he dropped the fork onto the table again. Picking up the phone as he went for another wipe, he was surprised to hear Stottlemeyer's voice. "Find anything at the site?" "No, is that all this is about?" He stopped wiping for a second when Stottlemeyer spoke again. "Not exactly. We've brought the guy in." 


	5. Chapter 5

Monk, Stottlemeyer, and Carolyn sat in the observation room, watching their suspect through the one-way mirror as he sat alone with Disher. He was a match for the sketch, though they hadn't seen his hands yet. "That's him," said Carolyn. "Terry Johnson Jr.," said Stottlemeyer. Carolyn looked surprised. "That's not the name he told me. Same initials, though. Oh my god..." The others could see the reason for her exclamation. Johnson had started idly rapping his fingernails on the table, and the six fingers were clearly visible.  
  
Stottlemeyer left the room, then reappeared on the other side of the wall. "This is total crap," Johnson said. "You don't have anything on me; if you did I'd be in a cell right now." Stottlemeyer, a veteran of many tough interrogation cases, wasn't flustered. "I know you want to get out of here as quickly as possible, and I suggest you cooperate." "We're not asking much, just read the line on this piece of paper," said Disher. Stottlemeyer slid a small sheet across the table. Johnson looked at it and smirked. "Give me your purse, lady," he said calmly.  
  
"All right. I'll be back soon." Stottlemeyer left the room and reappeared where Carolyn was waiting. She shook her head. "That wasn't the voice." Monk interjected, "But there's still the six fingers. Remember, he might be disguising his voice. You might have to catch him off guard." "All right, I have an idea," said Stottlemeyer as he left.  
  
As he reentered the interrogation room, Stottlemeyer told Johnson, "What if I were to tell you that what you just said implicated you in a murder case we've been trying to solve for a long time?" Johnson clearly was surprised. He blurted out, "What? That's impossible!" and his voice had a noticeably higher pitch. "Well, you may be right. I'll go double check."  
  
As soon as Stottlemeyer got into the observation room, Carolyn said, "That's it. That's the voice. Oh god, it was him!" "Easy, easy," Monk said. Stottlemeyer continued, "This is our big chance to nail this guy. Monk stay in here. Carolyn, come with me."  
  
The two of them entered the room, and Carolyn seemed to snap, screaming at Johnson about stealing her purse. "I'd say you're pretty well caught," said Stottlemeyer. "Why don't you tell us about it?" Johnson glanced at the two cops. "You'll be lenient if I plead guilty, right?" "Yes," said Stottlemeyer. "And if I can tell you about some other bad stuff, that's more time off, right?" "That's right," said Disher. "Well, open your ears, here we go."  
  
Stottlemeyer and Disher leaned forward expectantly. In the observation room, so did Monk. "I asked this chick here out, and we went to dinner. I impressed her with my monogrammed handkerchief. It's actually my father's, we have the same name. We have a great time, but I want to be sure I'll see her again, so I slip the handkerchief into her purse, so she'll call me up about it. Amazing the stuff you can learn from Seinfeld. I get home, I brag to my dad about it, and he gets all on my case because the handkerchief has his address on the other side, and he's kind of paranoid about that sort of thing. He tells me to get it back by any means necessary, though a little less politely than that."  
  
"Seems a little excessive to use two muggings to do it," said Disher. "You don't know my dad. You sure don't want him mad at you. He's been dealing drugs on the side for quite a while now, always bragging about how he's gotten away with it for so long. He's pretty well off from it, but I never see much of that money. He says I should earn everything I get, like he did. The only things he ever really gave me were an extra finger and gigantism. You know, after I didn't get the handkerchief the first time, he actually kicked me out until I could get it? I spent that night on the street." Johnson chuckled to himself. "Heck, I'll give you the address right now. It's around Lombard Street." Stottlemeyer and Disher listened to the street name and apartment number. Just as they were leaving, Johnson said, "Just do me one favor. Tell him his son sends his regards."  
  
"One screwed up kid, said Stottlemeyer as he and Disher crossed to the observation room. When they opened the door, no one was inside. Both rushed to the front room, where Disher noticed one of the drawers of his desk was open. He looked inside and made a bad discovery: "Captain, my gun is gone." Stottlemeyer didn't quite want to believe what was happening. "Are you sure? Maybe you just didn't put it there." "No, I don't think so. Look." The inside of the drawer was far neater and more organized than it had been the entire time Disher had been using it. Stottlemeyer was stunned. "We'd better get a team to that address before he does anything he'll regret. Come on!" 


	6. Chapter 6

Monk knocked on the door. He had reached the address the kid had specified, and was about to come face to face with the man who killed his wife. Yes, he'd heard about some other bad things that could get Terry Johnson arrested, but once he heard the address something had snapped, and he knew he had to take care of things himself.  
  
The man who answered the door looked very much like an older version of the person who had led Monk here. "Terry Johnson?" he asked. "Yes," the man replied, and at that moment Monk completely lost control of himself and pointed the gun at Johnson's head.  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said as he raised his hands and backed into the apartment. Monk noticed the six fingers, and knew he had his man. "Trudy Monk," he said. "Do you remember her? How about Warrick Tennyson, the guy who made bombs? You remember him?" Growing increasingly nervous, Johnson replied, "Yeah, I remember Tennyson. He lives in New York now, right?" "He did, but he died a while ago. I was there not long before it happened. He told me a little about you. You know the last thing he said about you was? That you were a freak."  
  
Johnson seemed to forget the gun, and bellowed "Don't say that word!" before charging at Monk. He fired the gun at the floor between them, bringing Johnson back to reality. Though momentarily shaken by the noise, Monk soon recovered. "Touchy subject, huh? I noticed your little peculiarity when I came in." "Okay, so I've got a little genetic abnormality, so what? Is that a crime?" "No, but drug dealing is, and your son just got through telling the police all he knows about you."  
  
Johnson flinched severely, then said, "If I say he's not my son, what then?" "Well, he has the same abnormality that you do, and he has your name with a Junior suffix attached. Not the best move for maintaining deniability." Johnson could see he was caught, and sighed. "So you're a cop, right? Okay, bring me in." Monk shook his head. "Actually, I'm not here about that. You remember the first person I asked you about, Trudy Monk? I'd like to know something about her."  
  
Johnson said, "Okay, I don't know why, but if it'll make you happy. She was walking through this neighborhood one time when she saw me making a deal. I had a bad premonition about doing it outside, but the day was too good. Should have listened, huh? Anyway, I chased her down and told her she was dead if she breathed a word. I'm pretty comfortable in this business, I can't let anything jeopardize that. I probably intimidated her enough that she wouldn't have said anything, but then I figured, why take the chance? So I followed her home, then hired Tennyson to make a bomb to kill her. Cost me two grand, but I'd say it was worth it, wouldn't you?"  
  
Monk had seemed to be frozen in place the entire time Johnson was speaking. Finally, he replied, "That's what it was about? Just a little paranoia?" "Yup. Funny, huh? So let's go already!" Monk steadied his grip on the gun. "My name is Adrian Monk. Trudy was my wife. I've spent quite a while thinking about what I'd do if I found you, and I think I've made up my mind." He pointed the gun at Johnson's knee. "The pain you're about to go through is just a small fraction of what I've felt every day since you took her from me. That's all I can give to you, but it will be enough for me. By the time you die, maybe you'll feel differently about the choices you've made."  
  
Before Monk could fire, a spotlight shone through the window. Stottlemeyer's voice came through a bullhorn. "Monk, I know you're up there. Bring Johnson over to the window." Monk waved Johnson toward the window, and followed. The voice continued. "Listen very carefully. A team of cops is on their way up. You don't have much time before they get there, and if they find you about to murder an unarmed man I'll have no choice but to prosecute you.  
  
"Now listen, I know what you're going through. I almost lost Karen because of someone like him, remember? You told me not to let my feelings get involved, and now I'm telling you the same thing. I hope you're a better listener than me." Monk didn't move, he couldn't. There was a pause, and suddenly he heard Sharona's voice. "Adrian, I have something to tell you. You think you're doing the right thing, and that you're doing it for Trudy. But ask yourself something. Is this what Trudy would do, what she'd want you to do? Would she feel proud of you for doing it? Please, just think about it."  
  
Monk didn't have to think, he knew what the answer was. He threw the gun on the floor, and Johnson made a run for it. Just as he reached the door, the police burst in and put him in handcuffs.  
  
Johnson was led out the door, where Stottlemeyer met him. "Your son sends his regards," he said. Monk soon followed, and Sharona ran to him. Suddenly, before either knew what was happening, he embraced her. Sharona was surprised but didn't try to break it off, simply standing there as Monk wept into her shoulder. 


	7. Epilogue

Monk slowly made his way through the graveyard toward his wife's tombstone. At his request, Sharona was waiting outside the gate while he did what had to be done. Finally he saw it, and began to speak.  
  
"Hello, Trudy," he said. "I guess you know what's been going on the last couple days. I'm so sorry about what I did, I just couldn't help myself. Without you to hold me back that's how I can become. You were the missing piece in my life, and that piece has been missing again for so long now, but I've never forgotten it was there."  
  
Monk felt himself tearing up, but that didn't stop him. "I hope you can forgive me for what I let my life become with you gone. I know you wouldn't want me to descend into a psychotic condition just because you weren't there anymore. But it was the only thing I could think of to take my mink off of how much I missed you for the briefest of moments.  
  
"And I do miss you, Trudy. I've missed you every day since you've been gone, and I'll keep missing you just as much until the day we're reunited." By now the tears were freely falling down his face, but he didn't care. "And there's one more thing. The last time I saw you, you said something to me that I never returned. Well, I'm returning it now. Bread and butter, Trudy. Till our hands touch again."  
  
Monk gently stroked the stone, then walked back toward the car where Sharona was waiting. She looked confused. "Adrian, are you okay?" "Yes, why do you ask?" "You missed a button on your shirt." Monk looked down and saw it was true. He set about fixing it.  
  
Sharona kept going, "So you didn't notice that the whole time since you put it on?" "No, I guess I didn't. Come on, Sharona. I'm ready to go home." 


End file.
